The Art of Saying Goodbye
by Typing Rebellion
Summary: It all started with that one phone call to a wrong number - in which both of them never wanted to hang up./ AU. Rimahiko.
1. Rima

**Edited A/N: There's another author's note at the bottom! Please do read. So I sort of promised a multi-chapter story, and here it is! **

**Everything else I presume you'd be confused about is at the bottom, so please do comply. **

**Anywho, enjoy! I really apologize if this was hard to understand and crappy. **

* * *

Chapter 1: Rima

Antiquity_ was my weakness._

_Back in my day, I would often find myself examining old trinkets curiously, my fingers cautiously maneuvering themselves around the brass rims, the dials, and the numerous buttons they were comprised of. I admired the historical value they possessed; the calamities they've been through, the striking controversies of their owners, and the untold stories that haunted their past. Eminently, I would survey them with such admiration; blowing on the collected dust across the surface, my nose instinctively scrunching up due to their pungent, aging smell; I, however, loved it nonetheless._

_My name is Mashiro Rima, 86 years old, and I wish to immortalize my memories on pen and paper, right before I'd forget them._

_Before I depart from this world, I would like to reminisce my innocent 18-year-old self, a stubborn young woman all dolled up in frilly dresses and Mary Jane shoes, swelling with pride and relief._

_My hands are dead tired, and my brain isn't really cooperating; but for you, dear reader, I will write what I remember in this account, all in the memory of Fujisaki Nagihiko._

_My dear reader, I tell you; Antiquity was my weakness._

_And it all started with that one telephone._

* * *

August 9th, 9:00 PM

I stared at the picture in admiration, my fingers tracing the golden, hand-carved frame dotted with miniscule diamonds and hearts.

There, in the photograph, sat my mother, a cheery smile naturally shown on her face as she affectionately held my father's hand, fingers entwined. He shared the same look of facial enthusiasm, his palm resting on my shoulder as I squeezed in between them.

That was probably the happiest day in my life.

One look at the picture always made my instincts trigger an automatic grin, and by that time I would've forced myself to stop pondering. I would tell myself to stop wishing, and to stop hoping that everything would be brought back.

It was all in the past.

The depressing thoughts I'd perceive at times would most likely cause deep, traumatic emotions of guilt and regret. Let me tell you this: it _hurt_.

I hugged the picture frame tightly.

It pained me to realize that those days of pure bliss would always result to desperate feelings of remorse. I wouldn't allow myself to think such happy thoughts, knowing that the sunshine and rainbows I used to have were already encased in albums and photographs; they were figments of my imagination and products of my reminiscent that I would never see again.

It all ended too soon.

My parents were already separated; and until now, my mother hasn't stopped mourning. She was certain of my father's remarriage, wallowing in her own self-pity as a wedding invitation was sent to her, causing her to brutally burst out in tears. I, meanwhile, studied hard, minding my own business, drowning away the loudness of her shrill cries with every page I turned and with every letter I wrote.

I never really showed her any sympathy.

_"So, Rima,__" she called out coldly as I ate my breakfast cereal, her hand grasping a frying pan. "You've graduated." _

_I nodded, munching on another spoonful of corn flakes. "In case you haven't noticed, yes."_

_"Well," I could feel her voice getting shaky as she turned on the stove. "What course are you taking?" _

_"Education. Major in History." _

_"I see," she murmured, her glassed eyes staring at the wall. "I talked to Fujisaki-san." _

_The smell of bacon wafted throughout the dining room, and I felt my mouth water out of hunger. "What about Fujisaki-san?"_

_"Erm, she agreed to let you in her boarding house," her voice returned to its normal state as she cleared her throat. "Since I would be too busy to drive you every day."_

_I didn't really want to move into the boarding house. The thought of living independently frightened me, really. _

_But I had to cope. _

_"Alright." _

_I shut my eyes tight, concentrating on my thoughts as the aroma of meat surrounded me; my mother had placed the plate of cooked bacon in front of me. Standing up, I evaded the bacon, grunting out of annoyance as I climbed up the stairs to reach my room. _

_"Rima," my mother called out from downstairs as I walked silently. "I know I've been a bad mother to you. I know." _

_My fingers clung to the doorknob as I listened to her, hoping she continued. _

_"I'm sorry." She uttered, aware of my presence. _

_I shut the door and entered my room quietly. _

That was how I'd wound up here, in a foreign bedroom much different from my own. Traditional Japanese-styled furniture replaced the original frills, laces and Mediterranean-styled wallpaper I used to see. A huge window hung open from the other side of the door, revealing beautiful, crawling wisteria blossoms and tubes of bamboo, compared to the usual view of buildings and cars from my urban apartment. This mansion was surrounded by a beautiful Zen garden maintained by the owners.

I have already moved to the Fujisaki boarding house.

It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn't _home_.

Horrible images of my mother appeared in my mind. She sat on our sofa, grasping a small mug with shocked eyes, shivering out of cold and loneliness. My departure left her with suicidal thoughts in mind, ones I wasn't fully aware of. She'd just stay there, unblinking, the TV blaring re-runs of cartoons while her mind went blank.

It was the first time I regretted leaving her.

Snapping back into reality, I scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary, grasping the picture frame while I looked. Numerous breathtaking paintings of dragons, beautiful geishas and even simple drawings of koi ponds hung on the walls; thin calligraphy often accompanied them, giving them a more traditional feel. All of them were signed with the letters "_F. N.",_ probably the artist's initials.

I sat on the edge of my bed, kicking my shoes off, accidentally hitting my suitcase. Sighing, I placed the picture frame on the bedside table, my other hand tightening its grip against my bed sheet.

One thing had caught my eye.

Perched on the bedside table was an antique rotary dial phone, complete with beautiful brass rims and a polished surface colored in ebony, standing out due to its elegant European design. It called out to me as if on whim; enticing me with its silent whisper.

I couldn't help but lift it, examining its ancient features, tracing the pretty edges and the hand-carved dial. The numbers looked at me with dazed eyes, hypnotizing me as it just sat there, unmoving.

For the first time in my life, I had fallen in love with an inanimate object. Old as it was, I didn't mind. It looked beautiful.

My eyes shifted to the table, my hands supporting the telephone while I checked what was under it. Etched on the wooden surface were a set of numbers, carelessly hacked as if in a hurry.

My heart started to rapidly beat, as if pounding itself out of my chest. I positioned the telephone back on the table, feeling an emotion I've never felt before; somehow, it made me excited. The adrenaline was rushing inside of me, and I was entitled to do something I never did before.

I presumed the digits were a telephone number, and out of curiosity, I lifted the receiver and positioned it properly beside my ear, spinning the dial rapidly, attempting to call.

To my amazement, however, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

A masculine voice erupted from the receiver, his tone sending chills down my spine. I could feel such risky excitement running through my veins, my heart's pounding resembling a taiko drum out of control. I swallowed the lump in my throat, resuming my uneasy breathing.

"Uh, hello," I greeted, praying to the gods not to make me stammer. "May I know who this is?"

It wasn't at all in my nature to be polite.

I heard a soft chuckle from the other end of the line, as if mocking me in this boy's attempted courteous glory. Shutting my eyes tight out of embarrassment, I tried to calm myself, fiddling with the telephone wires as I tried to regain my composure.

"You called me. Should it not be you introducing yourself?"

He uttered as if he were smiling, a theme of amusement present in his voice that I couldn't really muster.

He had a point, but I wasn't at all in the mood of being nice. I clutched the phone with my right hand tight, waiting for him to hang up, to no avail.

"I apologize," I gritted my teeth, pulling on the telephone wire hard. "It's a wrong number. I'll hang up."

An awkward silence was met as I waited for him to respond. Naturally I would have hung up without his permission, but in this case, however, I waited for his answer.

"Please," he uttered, clearing his throat. "Don't."

"Mm?"

I twirled my finger on the wire, its curls getting all tangled up, reminding me of my hair. Out of instinct, I crossed my legs by the bed's edge, my fingernails scraping off bits of the table's polished wood.

I waited.

I could feel my heart beating rapidly as I tried my best to breathe in between. I stole a glimpse through the open window, seeing a full moon nestled in between surrounding stars.

"They say," I muttered to myself, unaware of the listener from the other end of the line. "A full moon brings blessings. Sometimes, it turns out to be such magical and unusual things."

"Oh?"

I nodded to myself, blinking innocently as I silently anticipated for his reply. It felt stupid, really; the fact that it was _I _who carried on the conversation.

"Perhaps these unusual things are blessings in disguise."

I felt compelled to already jab the receiver and finally hang up, the mysterious aura of the young man I'm speaking to conspicuously haunting me.

"Stranger," I huffed, straightening my back as he listened to me talk. "I don't trust you."

He stifled a small laugh. "My name's Nagihiko. I trust you."

My cheeks started to radiate heat as I pulled on the telephone wire, biting my lip. He seemed to be such an attentive speaker; annoying, but attentive nonetheless.

I was speechless.

"Where did you get my number?"

"I saw it etched on my bedside table."

Peculiar as it sounded, it was the truth. I could hear him breathing from the receiver, his silence bothering me as we both tried to make conversation.

"Are you a college student?"

I felt doubtful to answer his question.

"I am."

He clicked his tongue, the call getting quite fuzzy as I sensed he was also playing with his telephone wire. A minute had passed and both of us were speechless, listening to each other's solemn breathing.

"You don't talk much," he murmured, inhaling deeply. "I understand."

I couldn't help but feel irritated by his polite and innocent façade. He didn't understand me, and he had no right to do so. I tried hard to drive him away.

"I don't say much," I grumbled, impolitely blowing through the telephone's holes. "Especially not to you."

Another silence had erupted; we were both drowned into a world of seemingly polite banters and awkward speechless moments. I couldn't help but feel curious about what he looked like; perhaps he was thinking about the same as well. Was he tall? Short? Slender? Fat? Handsome? I wondered if he thought of identical things.

I could feel myself getting impatient, and yet I didn't want him to leave. I felt that neither I nor him had anybody to talk to. I didn't really know why, but I just sat there, staring into oblivion, wondering if he was doing the same.

"I don't know what you look like," he finally said, sighing. "You sound pretty, though. Would that be enough to make you talk?"

I cleared my throat, staring at my nails as a distraction. "No. I think I'll hang up now."

"Go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"M-hm."

"No," I irritatedly mumbled, rapidly turning the dial situated on the black telephone. "It would amuse me if it were you who hung up."

"You're interesting," He casually whispered. "I could hear you turn the dial maniacally, you know."

"Just hang up."

"Goodbye."

_Click._

Bastard.

I tried not to drive myself into thinking of calling him once more the next day, my instincts telling me to do so even if he'd annoyed me so deeply. I could hear his breathing just as I did mine; we were two pensive individuals who did nothing but throw awkward silences at each other. However, I had to admit I'd felt such an attraction to him, my heart beating fast as he'd asked me questions out of curiosity. Instead of feeling depressed regarding my family issues and alleged homesickness, I had evaded the devastating thoughts and randomly called a person I never met, and never will.

I guess it's alright.

_No._

Talking to strangers wasn't at all proper; it was wrong.

However, I couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**[EDITED] A/N: Hello! So this chapter is named "Rima", as it is in her perspective. The next chapter might be called "Nagihiko", and so on. **

**I apologize if this was such a long, boring, and inconsistent story. ********I'm not satisfied with it myself that in fact, I had to redo this at least three times to keep me right on track!**

******The first part practically explains Rima's background, and she meets Nagihiko at the last part.**

******The whole chapter is Senior Citizen!Rima's flashback/account, whichever you see it as. **

**By the way, a rotary dial telephone is the kind of telephone with the big circle occupying more than half of the telephone's body. You have to spin it to dial. Basically, it's the charming telephone of the early 90's.**

**There's a very big plot twist in the next chapter. Also, I'm really, very sorry. **

**Comments? Suggestions? Criticism? Violent reactions? Questions? **

**Go ahead and review! **


	2. Nagihiko

October 26th, 1956

"Uncle's dead."

"_Mm._"

Ashes lay barren on the scattered autumn leaves, drops of water becoming moist as the sun started to rise. It had only been an hour right after the flames died out; the men had triumphantly shooed the townspeople away, leaving them for their own business.

"Fujisaki-san," A firefighter, clad in shiny, black boots and his usual grey uniform, ran to approach Hanako. "I think I've found something."

The old woman instantly squinted, her deranged eye vision becoming quite a nuisance in the latter part of her life. She clutched her granddaughter's hand tightly, a look of worry evident on her face.

"What is it?" she softly wheezed, trying best not to let her lungs give in. She had inhaled a lot of smoke earlier. "What is it, Kenji?"

Kenji tipped back his hat as he tried to scratch his forehead, mumbling to himself. In his hands, he grasped pieces of burnt parchment, carelessly bound into what seemed to be a book. Loose page corners had appeared from its edges, the papers itself already deteriorating due to last evening's blaze.

"It looks like a book," he shrugged, stating the obvious, handing it to the decrepit lady. "I don't find it to be of any use, however."

Distinct familiarity ravaged through Hanako's eyes, her breathing getting quite problematic as she tried to inhale. Miyoko, her granddaughter, tried to squirm away from Hanako's tight grip, curious of the object her grandmother held in her hands.

Immediately, Hanako had broken down, her fingers shuddering hastily due to the cold. Chills were sent down her spine as she tightly gripped on the hardbound cover, inhaling the mundane scent it had emitted.

It was probably the last trinket _he _had touched before leaving.

"Goodbye, my son."

A strong gust of wind blew; the autumn leaves following its every direction, drifting off everywhere.

Tears unconsciously streamed down Hanako's cheeks, her heart breaking constantly with every sob that erupted from her lips. Her legs drooped low, causing her to collapse into the grass, her white hair dangling to cover majority of her face. She instantly let go of Miyoko's hand, folding her arms and holding the book against her chest.

"Fujisaki-san!"

The firefighter tried his best to help her up; Hanako had started to loudly weep out of physical and emotional pain. Her joints were not meant to be bent instantly and were not meant to collapse. Kenji grasped the old lady's shoulders, her arms slumping as she was carefully dragged away, dropping the bound parchments.

_Meanwhile, approximately 300 kilometers away from the area, an old man had just prepared his morning coffee, clutching that day's newspaper as he stalked his way to the front porch. Sitting down, he started to pet the dog beside him while skimming through the front page. _

_"Last evening, October 25th, 1956, at approximately 7:26 PM, a fire had deliberately consumed the East Wing of the famous Fujisaki Mansion. One man has been reported missing. The said household, a beautiful Japanese paradise surrounded by tranquil gardens, has been said to - " _

_The old man shrugged, disinterested, and indifferently turned the page. _

Miyoko watched as her grandmother was dragged away.

Her eyes then averted to the slightly burnt book, its surface donning creases and stains with its discolored surface. Of course it looked vaguely familiar; once or twice Miyoko would see her youngest uncle hunched up on his study table, swiftly scribbling on the papers inside. Sometimes, out of curiosity, she would stand on her tiptoes to see what he was all worked up about, in which he would playfully shoo her away.

Oh, how she missed him.

She sat on the grass, placing the diary on her lap, her legs surrounded by leaves, their colors resembling a grotesque inferno.

_Property of Fujisaki Nagihiko_

Miyoko turned the cover page; and with that, she started to read.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: Nagihiko

August 10, 1956

It was around midnight when the phone rang.

Normally, I was the type of person who'd immediately pick up the receiver, politely answering the caller's endeavors, whether it were a prank caller or a mysterious wrong number. I would always cringe every time I heard the deafening noise, already considering death whenever the ringing would chorus with the sound of construction ongoing outside.

As much as I hated the telephone, it was a gift given by my deceased father from Europe. I have been told that the wired contraption was quite expensive; the carefully polished ebony surface and the beautifully crafted rims and dials made of brass. It didn't really help me much; I had no one to call.

Ever since I was a child, this mansion has been a prison.

Of course, from the outside, it was very beautiful - the windows were freely crawled on by purple wisteria while cherry blossom trees dotted the perimeter. Flowers surrounded the numerous fountains in the backyard, as beautifully shaped shrubs complimented their presence.

My home itself was a paradise, and yet I felt constrained and caged in this blissful delight. My parents had banned me from learning the casualties of the last world war, the bloodshed and hostilities were thought to haunt me in my later years. As challenging as it seemed, I had matriculated information from the gossiping servants - and sooner I had known that my country had already been crushed a decade ago.

I was being brainwashed to immerse myself in an illusional felicity that was my home, suppressed from imbibing the blood-soaked domain that was the outside. As much as I'd deem myself selfish, I couldn't. I was lucky; _too _lucky, in fact. I was lucky, but I was unaware of everything else.

I had hoped that writing in this journal would drift the telephone's cacophony away, and yet it had refrained from doing so. The caller was persistent.

Hesitantly, I grasped the receiver, its vibrations accompanying the deafening noise. I picked it up instantly with a sigh.

"Nagihiko."

It was a distinctly familiar voice - I presume I heard it yesterday. It sounded feminine, high-pitched, and almost angelic, though she seemed quite stubborn the first time she called. Unconsciously, I felt a tugging by the sides of my lips, and before I knew it, I started to grin.

"Hello, _girl_."

I swore I heard some flinching in the other end, and I couldn't help but chuckle. She lamented softly.

"I'm sorry for calling you at this hour, but I couldn't sleep," she continued. "I thought maybe you could listen to me ramble, since you wouldn't really hold it against me if it were so."

"I'm not sure," I murmured, lying down on the mattress and spreading my legs and arm around. "You were rude to me yesterday."

"I didn't mean to."

"I could feel that you hated my guts."

"I apologize."

I wasn't at all certain if she meant what she'd said, though by the looks of it, I wanted to give her another chance. She sounded hurt, actually; the noticeable cracks in her voice were already equivalent to mine, as if we both shared the heartache.

I caught a faint laugh from the receiver, her giggle coming out of nowhere. It felt peculiar.

"By all means," I cleared my throat, curious. "Are you drunk?"

At this time, all I've listened to was paramount companionable silence. I wasn't assured if she were offended or startled, but I felt the urge to wait.

"I guess not," she mumbled. "Though, Miyoko treated me with a few shots of alcohol earlier.." She eventually drifted off.

"Who's Miyoko?"

I heard a grunt of annoyance, and I guess there was an irritated snort in there somewhere.

"Miyoko's the caretaker of this boarding house," the caller scoffed. "She's just _lovely_."

I laughed, wondering how she managed to be so brusque whilst being ladylike all the same. Somehow, if it were appropriate at this given time, it charmed me.

"Curfew's probably at nine o' clock, isn't it?"

"M-hm."

"Miyoko-san has the same name as my niece, though."

She suddenly chortled, as if entertained - and by this time I was sure of her tipsiness. I had a feeling she was the complete opposite when sober; an adamant female creature who yearns for its natural habitat.

".. What's your name?" I just had to ask, though I didn't mean to. Words would freely flow out of my lips like distilled water, a natural phenomenon as if it were accidentally caused by my idiosyncratic vocal chords. It actually took her quite a long time to answer, as though she didn't really know what her name was or who she even is. Like the gentleman I was, I patiently waited, the receiver fixed next to my ear as I wrote this journal entry.

"Rima."

"Pardon?"

"My name's Rima."

I idiotically smiled, as if she could actually see. It was a name foreign to my ears, though it had meaning; everyone else in this household had names ending with "-ko", and it was tradition. In this household, I realize, that _everything _was based on tradition. The heirs were treated like royalty while the servants obediently complied, never mentioning nor complaining about the low salary. It struck to me, as if on whim, how I never was fully aware of it, merely because that was how I was raised.

I'm drifting away now. My handwriting is probably disgusting, since it was already past one.

"That's a beautiful name."

I could feel her wince from the telephone, as if she were flustered. How it amused me if it were so, and it would have garnered me the opportunity to tease - right now, however, I was uncertain.

"I know," she scoffed, regaining composure. "I know it's a beautiful name."

Another silence had started and before I knew it, my eyelids were getting quite droopy. I didn't really know how Rima managed to stay up at such a late hour, but I couldn't coax myself to fall asleep since that was quite the betrayal.

"Rima," I tried to make conversation once more. "Where do you go to school?"

"Seiyo University, in Osaka."

"Isn't that the university under construction?"

Seiyo University was being built nearby, its construction already estimated to end at approximately six to nine months. It would soon finish, hopefully - it had caused quite a ruckus and has been sending dust towards my window on weekday afternoons, sometimes even treacherously messing up my hair.

".. Pardon me?"

I heard her mumble some words that I didn't understand, something about her mother and perhaps the caretaker of her boarding house. I look around my room, trying to divert myself into keeping awake. Numerous paintings I had created were hung on the wall, my messy scrawls all over them; one was a picture of dragons I had painted when I had terribly missed my father, another was a beautiful geisha I had imagined once when my mother told me stories. On my study table lay a simple drawing of koi ponds, a gift for my four-year-old niece, Miyoko. It wasn't at all finished yet, and I would work on it every night so she wouldn't find out.

It was a shame, however - lately I would be too distracted from my paintings. Once I held a calligraphy or a paintbrush, my eyes would avert to my bedside table, in which my telephone rested on. I haven't finished the drawing in days; sometimes I would lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling for hours, waiting for the phone to ring.

It was roughly half past one, and as a sleep-deprived person, I've been yearning for some shuteye. Normally I would try to sleep at ten o' clock, and my mother would wake me up at three for dance lessons. However, this night wasn't at all normal - I had found someone to talk to.

I had found a friend.

It was the summer of 1956, and I wasn't at all expectant for anything to happen. I was sprawled on my bed with nothing to do and nothing to live for - it was just another ordinary day in the calendar.

".. Seiyo University.." I muttered, my muscles already exhausted as I closed my eyelids. "It's under construction nearby.."

"Silly Nagihiko," Rima said from the other end of the line. "It's the year 2009. Seiyo University's already been built for over fifty years."

I didn't really hear the last thing she had said, for my brain had proceeded to shut down.

I had already drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Did you get that? No? Basically, Nagihiko's stuck in 1956 and Rima's living in 2009. **

**This chapter's quite shorter than the first one, but this one took longer since I was studying all night and going out with people everyday. (Yes, it's summer.) **

**Rima's quite OOC here, because, well, she's drunk. So I sort of pictured her as one of the people who's the exact opposite while tipsy, but she also has hints of her stubbornness intact. I decided to make her immature and ladylike at the same time, if that's alright. **

**About Nagihiko, well, I don't know. I'm certain he's OOC, but I don't know if he's tolerable or not. I always thought he was quite the gentleman, and yet the fanfiction here nowadays make me believe he's some arrogant playboy sorority girl, but hey, maybe that's just me. **

**I just realized that my summary sucked, so I'm trying my best to change it sooner or later. Also, I'm not certain how many days are the interval for my next update, if you still hopefully dig the story and are wanting more.**

**If you're confused, I suggest you don't skip the dates written in underline every time something starts. It really helps, even if I'm a vague writer who's not worthy of your compliments. **

**People keep asking what is up with the telephone. The telephone's basically the antique one you spin maniacally like a dork. **

**Also, 2009!Miyoko is Nagihiko's mother in the canon physically and emotionally. Basically, she's the very same person, except in the story, she's not his mother, but Rima's bitchy boarding house caretaker instead. Miyoko's (hopefully) appearing in the next chapter.**

**Thank you very much to Rikan for helping me with Miyoko's name. Hanako just came out of nowhere as the typical cliché Fujisaki first name, and Kenji is named after a teacher in my school.**

**Thank you very much to LizzieGlee12, er, I mean Zelly Beans for helping me with the first chapter. Hihihi. **

**Thank you to the seven people who have reviewed! Of course, also the lurkers and the people who favorite and follow the story and me as an author. You have really touched my heart and have motivated me to write more. You are all beautiful people, really.**

**Alright, I'm back to memorizing the beautiful Math theorems encrypted in my Algebra book. I hope you wouldn't hesitate to message me if you like. Good day! **

**- Elias**


	3. Rima 2

**A/N: I'm really sorry. **

August 30, 2009

It was a risk.

"Let me get this straight," I heard a grunt from over the receiver, one that sounded irritated and curious at the same time. "You say that I live _fifty years _before you?"

"It was only a theory."

Nagihiko has officially become my closest confidante, a daily diary, and somebody to talk to whenever I'd feel like it. We grew on each other like bean sprouts - it merely took a few days. He was the dashing, debonair twenty-one-year old who'd ask for and accept advice; I was the eighteen-year-old tabby cat who thought he was delusional.

My suspicions arose when we first attempted to meet; exactly at noon, in front of the clock tower by my university. Apparently he'd implied that I entered a non-existent college which hasn't even completed construction - I, bewildered, thought he was joking.

It was another Friday afternoon when I stood, patiently waiting for his arrival - in which I found myself drenched in cold water when rain started to pour. Agitated, I proceeded to leave, the thoughts of finally meeting him whizzing past the corners of my cognition. _What if?_ _  
_

It was stupid.

Pondering on the essence of the ill-driven question, I decided to anticipate for his arrival for another two hours, soaked wet in the cold, late summer rain.

He never came.

"_Prove it._"

His voice was faint, like a dying whisper.

When had I interrogated him on that day, wrapped in Miyoko's scented towels to dry myself off the rainwater, he said he'd waited for me for approximately two hours as well - according to him, it was sunny, and it never rained; dust enshrouded him like a cloud, and the temperature was boiling hot. Raindrops never hit the ground for that whole week.

"What date is it today?" I asked, sprawled across my bed as I listened to the loud chirps of the noisy crickets.

"It's the thirtieth of August, Rima-san. _1956_." He gave much emphasis on the year.

The Japanese History textbook I had borrowed from a friend lay open beside me. Earlier on, I had prepared for this moment - whether it were accurate or not, I wouldn't mind.

"Would you be aware of Jinzaburō Masaki? The military general?"

I heard awkward shuffling from the other end of the line as I waited for a dull response.

"Why, yes. He's a close family friend."

For now I was certain that he really did live decades ago - and for that, I really was sorry. I wasn't at all scared at whatever would happen - I befriended him, I believed him, and I trusted him.

For a moment, I removed the receiver away from my ear, staring at its holes wistfully as I murmured, "He'll die tomorrow, Nagihiko. The thirty-first of August, 1956."

A prolonged pause was all I heard as I gripped the receiver and placed it back next to my ear. I could make out deep breathing and a faraway blow as I presumed he tried best to mindlessly construct a seemingly neutral reply.

The date recorded on my notes was correct - they were written carefully on a piece of parchment I would try to memorize before school started.

"That would be impossible, Rima-san," He cleared his throat, chuckling uneasily. "He couldn't die."

"Why not?

"Masaki-san's my brother-in-law - he was Miyoko-chan's father."

_Click._

* * *

"That would be six hundred yen, miss."

He stared at me longingly as I handed the money, his hair being carried gracefully by the wind as it resembled an open flame. His lust-colored highlights complimented his amaranth uniform, as he proceeded to grasp my hand intently, maintaining that position for a few seconds.

This was how I met Fuyuki Kirishima.

"Excuse me?"

He let go of my hand instantly as a tinge of red appeared on his cheek, his eyes glued to mine. Tension was in the air as I swore I could hear his heart beat faster - mine, however, refused to keep up.

"You know," I mumbled, my eyes glued to the pavement. "I'm just waiting for you to leave."

He continued to look back at me absurdly, his face quite flustered as he tucked the money in his pockets.

"I-I'm sorry, miss," he uttered, biting his lip uneasily. "Thank you for shopping at McDonald's."

I gave him a slight nod as he proceeded to ride away with his motorcycle, giving me one last look before he drove off.

I clutched the food carefully as I continued to walk back inside the wooden gate, the crickets continuing to chirp its melodic tune. The haunting winds of autumn were drawing near, the cold resembling that of an icy terrain.

Faint cries were all I heard as I walked to cross the garden, the soft grass tickling my feet. It was nearly midnight, and the moon stood idly by, watching me as I followed the ghastly sounds.

"Father."

Miyoko-san bowed before a tomb, her long hair almost covering up her whole body as she tried best to muffle her cries with her sleeve. She looked devastated, but beautiful nonetheless; even her weeping made her look graceful. She wore a beautiful black kimono that complimented her pale skin - a Japanese symbol for mourning.

Fujisaki Miyoko was a beautiful woman; her dark brown hair flowed attractively like silk and her milky white skin resembled fragile porcelain. Her rules were quite strict, and nobody in the household knew of her age. She was like a refined, ostentatious ghost that lurked in the hallways of the mansion, the epitome of the ancient and infamous Fujisaki beauty that illuminated from her smile and flowed freely through her veins.

Miyoko slowly placed white lilies on the grave, her hand touching it for a brief moment as I loudly cleared my throat.

Miyoko immediately shot up and looked at me with gentle eyes as she proceeded to smile and wipe her tears.

"Oh. Hello, Rima."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," I muttered, swallowing the lump in my throat as she stood up. "What are you doing?"

She pursed her lips, as if mildly disturbed, and that was when I realized I was acting naive - she walked towards me, placing her hand on my shoulder, and gestured to move back inside.

"It's my father's death anniversary tomorrow."

My eyes widened in surprise.

* * *

**A/N: This would most likely be the crappiest chapter I have ever written, since it was quite rushed and school is already starting on Wednesday. I'm really sorry for the bad writing and the late and short update, since I've been doing government jobs and also preparing for my first day of school. Also, I've become quite lazy and my mind is broken. **

**Masaki-san was a real Japanese military general in WWII. I knew nothing about him except his wartime achievements, and even Wikipedia's quite unaware of his personal life. So this is not entirely accurate historically. **

**Another excuse for the crappy writing is that I've been having this mind-boggling idea in my head for a very long time - which concerns the famous Kimi and Rikan Rimahiko genderbends, or Riku and Nadeshiko. Thoughts? **

**Also, I didn't re-read this, so expect some grammar mistakes and bad vocabulary - a lot of reviewers have commented good things about my vocabulary, and for this time I'm braindead so I couldn't construct my sentences properly. I really, really do apologize. **

**So to answer a few of your questions: **

**1.) Nagihiko is not a time-traveler. They basically live in different eras, and they magically meet through telecommunication. I'm already at the part where Rima tries to dissect the truth while Nagihiko tries to understand. Apparently, they establish a platonic (and perhaps romantic) relationship that stands through the test of time. **

**2.) Regarding Miyoko, I'll leave it for you to decide if there are two Miyokos and if there is only one. It's quite obvious. I love Miyoko, and I'm really sorry if I didn't get to introduce her this time. My brain is dead. RIP brain. **

**Any more questions, comments, suggestions? **

**I'm really, really sorry for the cliffhanger and the confusion. This story, specifically this chapter, is not my best. Please expect me to update better and faster next time, and to revive my motivation in continuing this. **

**Cheers. **

**- Elias **


	4. Important Author's Note

Hello!

I'm really sorry for not updating this story sooner. What happened? School happened.

I'm not really sure if you're still interested in knowing what happens and for some reason I've lost my train of thought but if you want me to update, then I will! I just want to know if people are still reading this and etc.

I just re-read it now and it was confusing and badly-written, I know. If you don't want me to continue the writing and just want me to give out what happens, then please tell me so in a form of review.

Have a nice day! It's summer and I'm free, bored and restless.

Stay awesome. B)

Love,

Elias

P.S. If I continue this, I promise to upload two chapters within May.


End file.
